


Fire in the Sky

by RMDyer



Series: The Merging of Two Fires [3]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Mission Fic, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-03-04
Updated: 2010-04-30
Packaged: 2017-10-07 17:23:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RMDyer/pseuds/RMDyer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jack goes AWOL, SG-1 must follow his interplanetary trail - but they can't do it without the help of some old enemies. Sequel to 'Smokescreen' and 'Smoke on the Water.' [S/J]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is third in a series of stories that depict separate, self-contained missions but contain continuing strands of character development. That means you can read any of them as stand-alone, but reading previous stories will give you deeper insight to where the characters are at.

As far as Sam Carter was concerned, Jack O'Neill's impromptu marriage proposal had been one of his finest moments.

It had been during their first trip to the cabin after Sam had returned from Atlantis. Regardless of their late arrival, they had gone out by the lake to cast their lines under the stars. They had talked, joking together at first, though things had become a little more serious after that. The topic had been a little more painful for him than for her; she had apologised, and tried to move the conversation on. He had cut her off in the middle of her sentence with two words.

_Marry me._

No ring, no flowers, no semi-prepared speech; she suspected from his tone of voice that it had been as much as a surprise from him as for her. But Sam loved that it had been so spontaneous, so genuine, so... _Jack_.

And it seemed that he hadn't given up on surprising her just yet.

"Jack," she said, gazing at him in disbelief. His face grinned at her from the screen on the wall; around her, the constant hum of the _Hammond_'s engines filled the room. "I thought we said..."

"No private communications when you're offworld?" Jack replied.

"Yes. If you're not contacting the ship on official business..."

"Ah, but I am," he told her, mischief in his eyes. "I'm just taking care of a little personal business at the same time. Good job you've got a secure communications feed to your quarters, huh?"

"Jack," she began, giving him a stern look. It was spoiled slightly by her lingering smile.

"Sam," he replied, calmly. "It's our _anniversary_."

He said it with such relish that she felt a thrill of joy go through her.

She reigned herself in, shaking her head in spite of herself. "It's not fair on the crew. I'm their commander – I can't expect them to go weeks without seeing their loved ones if I can't live up to it myself."

He looked at her with fond exasperation. "Perhaps I should rephrase that," he said. "This is our _first_ anniversary. Besides, I think you underestimate the amount your country – your planet – owes you. Speaking of owing you something... have you, uh, spoken to Marks lately?"

"Marks?" Sam looked confused for a moment; his face fell. Then she laughed. "Oh, the champagne. Yes, I discovered that last week."

Jack stared at her. "I told him it was a secret!" he exclaimed, scandalised. Sam grinned at him.

"You're forgetting about ship regulations," she answered. "No alcohol on board without my express permission. I almost had to discipline him when I caught him trying to smuggle it aboard. He didn't have a choice, Jack," she added, amused at his disappointed expression.

"But that's all he gave you, right?" Jack answered. "Just the champagne."

"Yes. Why?"

A mischievous look entered Jack's eyes, but his face remained otherwise passive. "No reason. So, Daniel came round this morning bearing home-baked cake, the latest _Simpsons_ box set and a crate of Guinness." He beamed at her. "Samantha, you know me too well."

Sam grinned back at him and answered, "I was going to ask Teal'c to pass it all along to you, but he insisted that he would have to deliver it with a traditional Jaffa love-song on my behalf."

"In which case," Jack replied, deliberately raising an eyebrow, "I'm grateful you gave it to Daniel instead. They both send their love, by the way. Mitchell and Vala too."

Sam smiled, though she felt a pang of loneliness at hearing their names. She told herself that it was silly to miss them: missions aboard the _Hammond_ weren't nearly as long-term as her year-long excursion in Atlantis. Yet it was still early days for her as ship commander, and she often found herself missing the support of her friends on both SG-1 and Atlantis. Most of all, though, she missed Jack.

Even so, she knew her absences were harder on him than on her. She was in the thick of it, always busy, always needed; he was left behind, knowing the danger she faced but powerless to protect her. He tried not to show how much it troubled him; but every time she caught a glimpse of the fear in his eyes, she wondered how much longer she would be able to put the safety of the galaxy ahead of the one man she loved so deeply.

She looked at his face, gazing at her from the screen, and longed to be next to him.

"So what was the official part of this message, sir?" she asked, trying to keep her tone light, desperate to move on from her melancholy thoughts. She could still think of him as her commanding officer sometimes, when she needed to; it made seeing him from light years away that little bit easier. It pained her to do so, but sometimes it was the only way to keep control.

"Well, _Carter_..." – he gave her a half-amused look – "...the nerds at Area 51 are desperate to get their hands on the mission data so far. Specifically, your tests with the Chimera optical protection whatsit..."

"Chimera Optics Projection System," she corrected, smiling. He grimaced.

"I knew that," he told her, and concluded: "The rest of us wouldn't mind a look at the numbers, either."

Sam smiled again, slipping easily into an explanation. "Well, the results do look promising. After making some adjustments to our latest long-range prototype, we've conducted a number of tests in which we've been able to successfully project a holographic image to the surface of a planet from low orbit. However, projection seems to have been attenuated in several cases; our data suggests that a strong planetary electromagnetic field may affect the quality of the projection."

A familiar look of incomprehension passed over Jack's face but he didn't ask for clarification, instead jumping to a more practical question: "Can we overcome that?"

"It shouldn't be a problem," Sam answered. "To be honest, that's not really the main issue."

Jack arched his eyebrows. "Oh?"

"So far we've been unsuccessful in our attempts to get the technology to work through electromagnetic shielding," she explained. "For the moment, that rules out any application of the Chimera system in most infiltration operations. On top of that, some instances of electromagnetic interference have been causing difficulties with the audio and visual signals received by the person whose image is being projected."

"Why?" Jack asked bluntly. "I thought this was Asgard technology. _They_ never had any problems popping up in strange places."

"That's what it's based on, yes sir. But the Chimera system itself is eighty-two percent Earth-built. It's being developed not only for immediate practical application but also with a view to produce something made completely from Earth materials. The more we try to incorporate Earth elements into alien designs, the more problems there are to solve. To be honest, sir, we still have no idea how the technology enables the person using it to see and hear the environment into which their image is being projected. It should be impossible."

"You'll figure it out," Jack told her confidently.

"Maybe," Sam replied. "I've got some good scientists on the Chimera team. I just wish I could spend more time on it myself, and even then I'm not sure..."

"Sam."

She trailed off, realising that she had been about to embark on a feverish list of all the problems they were facing with the Chimera device. She grimaced, but Jack was looking at her with a knowing expression.

"Sam, you're right to keep a little distance between you and the projects that go on under your command. Your priority has to lie with the execution of your orders – and more importantly, with your crew."

She nodded. "I know. It's just... wherever I am, I always feel I could be doing something more."

Jack gazed warmly at her. "You're already doing more than anyone has asked of you, Sam. You always have."

At that moment, the ship's alarm began to blare; a voice came through the intercom summoning Sam to the bridge, and then the whole ship shook. Sam stumbled but managed to keep her balance, dimly aware that Jack was calling her name.

"Jack–"

"I know," he answered, and added urgently: "I love you."

Before she could reply, another impact rocked the ship; the screen went dead. Without hesitation, she ran for the bridge.

*

The daylight shone bright and strong on Aurelis, but little of it touched O'Neill.

It had been eighteen hours since they had lost contact with the _Hammond_. At first he had tried to convince himself that it was just a technical problem; Sam would fix it. A few hours after that, he had told himself that the ship must have been engaged in a minor scuffle with an enemy vessel; sustained some damage to a few internal systems; just needed time to repair the damage and get communications back online.

He hadn't been able to hold onto those hopes for long. He simply knew the dangers too well.

He still projected his typical, wry self. He still filled awkward silences with ironic jokes and inappropriate comments, though perhaps his humour had been a little darker than usual. His cynicism – something that had been gradually easing since his engagement to Sam – seemed to have gained new depths since they had lost contact with her ship. And despite Jack's dry and careless manner, his insides felt as cold and hard as steel.

He had chosen his clothing and equipment very carefully for this mission: black fatigues instead of the standard green; a heavy combat vest full of emergency supplies. He had wanted to take more ordnance along, but the sergeant in charge of the SGC armoury had told him that he was only authorised to take a nine-millimetre and some extra clips. The pistol was currently strapped to his right thigh, and the bullets were stowed away in one of the multiple pockets of his vest.

He eyed the P90 of the airman in front of him. Now _that's_ what he should be carrying...

Jack heard the familiar sound of the Stargate shutting down behind him. The DHD was a few yards to his left, perched on the lip of the hill. In front of them, the land sloped down into a densely populated little valley. Tall buildings clustered around a narrow but fast-running river; livestock grazed on the hillsides around. It all looked so simple, Jack thought; yet he knew they harboured a renewable source of energy that could be invaluable to the sustainability of the human population on Earth.

He knew what he was risking.

"Thinking of old times, sir?" his escort, the newest member of SG-17, asked. He had apparently misinterpreted Jack's silence for a reminiscent pause. O'Neill threw him a questioning look; he added uncertainly: "I heard you came here with the rest of SG-1 a few years ago, General, before you took command of the SGC. I thought that was why the elders specifically requested that you be at the negotiations."

At first Jack didn't answer, glancing briefly at the DHD.

"That's right, Lieutenant," he said at last. "But they're the ones that set up this whole shebang. They wouldn't have done it if they don't plan to give us something, regardless of who actually turns up."

"Sir?" the lieutenant asked, and Jack realised that his final sentence had sounded as though he was addressing himself. Maybe he was. Jack shook his head and gestured the junior officer to lead the way.

They had gone only a few steps down the hill before Jack slipped awkwardly on the uneven ground. He let out a cry but managed to break his fall; the young lieutenant whipped round and hurried back towards him.

"General! Sir, are you alright?"

"I'm _fine_," Jack replied angrily. He had been asked that question countless times over the past eighteen hours, whenever anyone had found out Sam was missing. The lieutenant stretched out a hand to help him up, but Jack knocked it aside, muttering, "What am I, an invalid?"

"No, sir," his escort replied, abashed. Jack sighed and hoisted himself up. He seemed to lose his balance for a moment, and quickly grabbed hold of the other man's shoulders.

It only took Jack a couple of seconds to get hold of the lieutenant's zat gun. He slipped it out of its holster and stepped back before the young soldier could comprehend what was happening.

"Sorry, kid."

The serpent-like weapon sprang open. He fired.

A field of blue energy hit the junior officer and he fell, convulsing, to the ground. Jack paused a moment, his conscience objecting; he pushed the self-recriminating thoughts away, hunkering down to relieve the lieutenant of his weapons and ammunition. He worked quickly, leaving nothing he could use; this planet was safe enough, and SG-17 would find their youngest member as soon as they came investigate why he hadn't shown up at the settlement with O'Neill. It caused Jack a slight twinge of guilt to leave one of his own unarmed and vulnerable, but it couldn't be helped.

He stood up and ran back towards the DHD. After a brief glance around to check no-one was watching, he punched in the co-ordinates he had memorised before leaving Earth. The Stargate activated with a rush of energy. Jack readied his P90, cast one last glance over his shoulder, and then ran into the fluctuating blue of the event horizon.

**End of Part 1.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SG-1 return from their latest mission to discover O'Neill is missing, and launch a rescue mission - only to find some surprising answers.

Hank Landry was growing increasingly frustrated with the man on the other end of the phone, and increasingly annoyed with whatever stunt Jack O’Neill had been trying to pull. Landry had just begun to explain – again – how his men were in no way responsible for O’Neill’s disappearance when the klaxon began to sound and an incoming wormhole was announced; relieved for the interruption, he made his excuses and ended the call, hurrying from his office down to the Control Room.

“Chief?” he enquired automatically, glancing up at the closed iris of the Gate.

“SG-1, sir,” Walter Harriman replied.

“Open it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Landry didn’t wait to supervise the execution of his order. He made his way down another flight of stairs to the Gate Room and strode in through the blast doors in time to see the four members of SG-1 spilling out of the event horizon.

“Whew-hew!” Cameron Mitchell exclaimed, almost overbalancing at his faster-than-normal expulsion from the Stargate. Behind him, Daniel Jackson stumbled and almost fell when Vala ran straight into the back of him.

“Vala!”

“It wasn’t on purpose!” she replied. At his glare, she admitted remorselessly, “Well, maybe a little.”

Beside them, the perfectly stable Teal’c gave them all a slow, contemplative look, as though wondering how his comrades could be affected by such a minor thing as gravity.

“Colonel?” Landry prompted as the Stargate shut down. Mitchell exchanged a glance with Daniel – they had both heard the impatience in the General’s voice – before hastily offering his report.

“The mission was a complete success, sir,” he told his superior. “That’s one more batch of _kassa_ tagged. We heard from the locals that it’s due to be picked up by the Lucian Alliance by tomorrow, so once Sam gets back with the _Hammond_ she and her crew can go and figure out where the Alliance are hoarding their stockpile.”

“And then _we_ can go and blow it up,” Vala added cheerfully.

“Right,” Cam agreed, before turning back to the General.

Landry looked at them for a moment, then inclined his head up towards the Control Room window. “Chief, ready the MALP and dial the co-ordinates.”

Walter acknowledged the order with a dutiful, “Yes, sir.” Daniel glanced around his teammates before asking,

“General, what’s going on?”

“Briefing room,” Landry replied, turning on his heel and marching towards the door. He heard SG-1 fall into step behind him just as Mitchell muttered,

“Oh, boy.”

*

Daniel had known there was something wrong the moment General Landry had greeted them at the bottom of the ramp, but there was no way he could have been prepared for this. His incredulity spilled out in three monosyllabic words:

“Jack did _what_?”

Landry glanced at him sharply, and he realised that he had just cut the General off in the middle of his sentence. “Sorry,” Daniel muttered. “But – are you _sure_ about this?”

“About as sure as the SG team member General O’Neill attacked,” Landry answered gruffly.

“Out of curiosity, sir,” Mitchell interjected, measuring his tone carefully, “what was General O’Neill doing offworld in the first place?”

Landry sighed. “General O’Neill agreed to go to Aurelis at the specific request of the elders to initiate trade negotiations; it was under his leadership that SG-1 first made contact.”

“I remember that,” Daniel muttered, casting his mind back to the mission that had taken place some years previous. “They had some sort of innovative power generation system. Sam said she’d never seen anything like it.”

“Area 51 have been dying to get their hands on it ever since,” Landry agreed. “But the trade negotiations aren’t really the issue here. Regardless of the fact that General O’Neill has gone AWOL, he is still an Air Force general and he is still missing. I’ve been authorised to mobilise as many resources as necessary to find him.”

Teal’c remarked, “I do not believe O’Neill would have taken such action without good reason.”

“A secret mission?” Vala suggested.

“So secret he wouldn’t tell us?” Daniel countered – though he couldn’t help feeling it was at least possible. Vala shrugged. Daniel shifted his attention back to Landry and asked, “What does Sam think?”

Landry didn’t answer immediately, and Daniel felt the cold grip of dread take hold in the pit of his stomach.

“We lost contact with Colonel Carter a little over nineteen hours ago,” the General told them at last. “Colonel Carter was giving her latest report to O’Neill when the _Hammond_ began to sustain damage. Communications were affected almost immediately; she didn’t have time to advise us of her situation. The good news is, the automatic emergency distress beacon never activated, which means the ship can’t have been too badly damaged. As it stands, Colonel Carter and her crew are currently being considered missing in action.”

“You don’t think...” Vala began, trailing off as she sent a significant glance around the room. Daniel felt a surge of irritation at her suggestion and bit back a retort. As much as he wanted to deny it, it was the most obvious explanation for Jack’s disappearance: Jack never left a member of his team behind, much less Sam.

“Alright, so _maybe_ he went after Carter,” Mitchell said, though he sounded unconvinced. “Where would he go? She’s in the middle of space.”

“To one of our allies, perhaps,” Teal’c offered. “One who could provide him with a space-worthy craft.”

“But why didn’t he wait for us to get back?” Daniel asked. He was a fraction relieved to find another flaw in the argument. “All he needed to do was wait another hour. He didn’t have to go on his own.”

Mitchell gave a word of agreement and turned back to Landry. “Do we have any other leads?”

It seemed Landry had been waiting for this question; he produced a small strip of paper and handed it to Mitchell, who studied it for a moment before passing it on to Daniel.

“A Gate address?” Daniel asked, recognising the hand-written symbols at once. The paper was heavily creased, as though it had been crumpled up and thrown away. Vala gestured him to pass it over, and he leaned across the table to give it to her.

Landry nodded. “We found it in General O’Neill’s house a short while ago. Do any of you recognise the co-ordinates?”

“Not me,” Vala replied as Mitchell and Daniel shook their heads. Teal’c gazed at it a moment before adding, “I do not.”

“It must be a clue,” Daniel said. “Think about it: if he really wanted to disappear without a trace, then why would he leave a Gate address for us to find? He must have known we would search his house.” He looked appealingly around the table before focusing his attention on Landry. “General, there’s got to be more going on here.”

There was a brief pause as Landry considered this. To Daniel’s relief, Mitchell came to his aid.

“Jackson’s right,” he agreed. “General O’Neill used to be black ops. He wouldn’t leave something like this laying around, not by accident. He wanted us to find it.”

“Have you tried dialling the co-ordinates, General Landry?” Teal’c enquired, his voice betraying his impatience. Daniel realised that Teal’c probably considered Jack’s motives for leaving the address irrelevant; they had a lead, and they should follow it in pursuit of their friend.

Landry nodded briefly. “Walter’s doing it now.” He glanced through the large briefing room window, which looked down into the Gate Room. The Stargate was active.

Mitchell followed his gaze. “Looks like they got a lock.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Vala wondered, half-rising from her seat. “Let’s go.”

“Wait,” said Daniel, and turned back to Landry. “What about Sam?”

“The _Odyssey_ is already on its way to the _Hammond_’s last known co-ordinates,” Landry told him. “Don’t worry, Dr. Jackson; we’ll find them. Right now I need SG-1 to focus on the search for General O’Neill.”

“Yes, sir,” Mitchell agreed, before Daniel could respond. “When do we leave?”

*

They left as soon as the MALP had verified that the planet was safe. SG-1 stepped out of the wormhole and into air that was heavy with faint drizzle. Vala immediately pulled a face; Daniel reacted with a glare.

“It’s just a little rain, Vala.”

“You call this rain?” Vala retorted, trying to wave the tiny airborne droplets away from her face. “It doesn’t even have the courtesy to fall in a straight line.”

“Never mind about the rain,” Mitchell interrupted impatiently. “Jackson, send back the MALP.”

They waited in silence as Daniel did so. A heavy kind of tension hung over them – a tension that Mitchell knew would probably remain until they found O’Neill and completed their mission. Even then, he suspected it would linger until Sam was found alive and well. _If_ she was found...

He shook the thought from his mind before he could finish it. She was still out there. If the SGC hadn’t tracked down the _Hammond_ by the time they got back, he would go out looking for her himself.

He heard the Stargate shut down and gestured Teal’c to lead the way down the path that led through a grove of trees towards some buildings in the distance. The path was deadly straight, and Daniel began theorising about a possible link to ancient Roman civilisation. Nobody stopped him.

The rain was subsiding by the time the town came fully into view. It seemed that Daniel had been right; Mitchell found himself remarking, “What is this, the set of _Gladiator_?”

Vala swept her gaze around the buildings and then fixed her eyes on the passers-by. “I thought Romans were supposed to wear – Daniel, what do you call...?”

“Togas,” Daniel answered, without waiting for her to finish. “They wore togas.”

“Guess they went for a new look this season,” Mitchell commented, frowning at the fact that everyone he saw seemed to be wearing bullet-proof vests. Teal’c was eyeing the crowd warily.

“They all appear to be armed, Colonel Mitchell.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Mitchell replied. “Alright, let’s try not to step on anybody’s toes. We’re just here to gather intel.”

“We should probably split up,” Vala told him. “This looks like the kind of place where getting approached by four armed strangers might make some people a mite jumpy.”

Mitchell nodded, still scanning the loose crowd through which they were walking. They had reached the town square, which was crammed with stalls and bellowing merchants with questionable wares. “Teal’c, you go with Vala. Daniel and I will check out the nearest tavern. Keep in radio contact and _don’t_ get into trouble.”

He said this last with a warning look directed at Vala, who adopted an innocent smile. Teal’c turned and disappeared into the swarm of people surrounding them; Vala winked and darted after him.

“You know,” said Daniel, clapping Mitchell on the shoulder as he began in the opposite direction, “you might as well have just told her not to _steal_ anything.”

Mitchell frowned, glanced back over his shoulder, then followed Daniel into the crowd.

*

Vala cast her eyes over the merchandise that covered the stalls around her, absently following in Teal’c’s wake as he cut a steady path through the milling customers. She was just thinking about the best way to con one of the stall owners into giving her a power coupling for nearly nothing when Teal’c stopped suddenly in front of her. She looked up in time to stop herself walking into him and said grumpily,

“Some warning would have been nice.”

He turned so abruptly on the spot that she instantly regretted saying it. His tone as level as ever, he replied, “I do not see O’Neill here. We must begin questioning the inhabitants.”

He scanned the stall proprietors with a hard gaze, and began to walk towards the nearest one. Vala hastily grabbed his arm.

“Uh... bad idea,” she said, sizing up the stocky merchant’s all-too-friendly expression. “That’s the kind of guy who cons people for fun, not for money. We need someone we can bribe – or better still, sweet-talk. Someone like...” She skimmed the faces around her. “Ah-ha. This way, Muscles.”

Vala adopted a bright smile and wove her way through the crowd towards the young proprietor of a jewellery stall. She began innocently perusing the items on the counter, which were protected from theft by a transparent force shield. She continued in silence for a while, aware that Teal’c was hovering somewhere behind her. She hoped he would be patient enough to let her work her magic.

At last the merchant behind the stand said, “Are you looking for anything in particular, ma’am?”

She looked up quickly, as though she hadn’t realised he was there, and gave him a shy smile.

“Oh, nothing really, I just... well, it’s all so pretty, isn’t it?” She dropped her gaze to study the largest diamond in the case, which was in fact attached to a rather ugly chain. “It’s a shame I can’t buy anything until I find my escort. I don’t suppose you’ve seen him?”

The merchant looked pointedly over her shoulder at Teal’c. Vala turned and gave a tinkling laugh.

“Oh, no, this is my Jaffa _bodyguard_. I mean my escort – my advisor – you know, the one who handles all the money side of things?” She lowered her voice. “I have an awful lot of it too – apparently!” She laughed again. “Isn’t that right, Jaffa?”

Teal’c blinked at her, before reluctantly inclining his head. Vala turned back to the merchant with a beaming smile. He frowned at her.

“But... aren’t you Tau’ri?” he asked, before adding defensively: “That’s Tau’ri uniform; I’d recognise it anywhere.”

Vala kept her smile steady. “Do you like it?” she asked, and gave a little twirl. “Specially made from authentic Tau’ri materials. It’s the latest in high fashion this season. I have all my people dress this way. My outfits are a little better fitted, but I think it works – don’t you agree?”

“It’s... very nice. Authentic materials, you say? That must’ve cost.” His tone was no longer bemused but engaging, and she realised with satisfaction that he had fallen for the act.

“I like to think so,” Vala replied airily, picking an imaginary hair off her sleeve and casting it away into the non-existent breeze. She turned her gaze back to the diamond on the counter. “Yes, I think I shall buy this – just as soon as I find my escort...” She made a show of bobbing her head above the crowd. “Oh, where is that man? If I don’t find him soon I shall tire of shopping altogether.”

“Perhaps I can help,” the merchant replied eagerly. “Wouldn’t want you to go back home before making your best purchase of the day, would we?” Vala smiled at him, fluttering her eyelashes. He added, “I saw a man in Tau’ri uniform pass through here not long ago. He was wearing black, though, not green...”

“That’s him,” Vala answered quickly. “Did you see where he went?”

“He met up with some other uniformed types,” answered the merchant. “Lucian Alliance. Ordering up your latest batch of _kassa_, that’s my best guess.”

Vala was unable to prevent herself exchanging a look with Teal’c, and the Jaffa replied, “Are you certain?”

“Sure. That’s the thing with uniforms, right? You can tell where people are from, even from a distance. Present company excluded, of course.”

Vala gave a polite smile. “And where, exactly, did they go?”

*

Cam Mitchell winced at the accusation in his superior’s tone as Landry’s voice came through the radio. Mitchell and the rest of SG-1 were standing in front of the Stargate, reporting back to the SGC after Teal’c and Vala’s discovery.

“Are you trying to tell me,” the General demanded, “that Jack O’Neill just walked into the arms of the Lucian Alliance? _Willingly_?”

“That’s what it sounds like, sir,” Mitchell replied, giving Vala a look that told her she better be sure about this. “Although I doubt it’s quite a simple as that.”

“Whatever the reason, General, we should check it out,” Daniel chipped in. Mitchell offered him a wordless nod, grateful for the support.

“What about your source?” Landry replied. “Can we be sure this intel is valid?”

“Well, he’s not exactly the most reliable source in the galaxy,” Mitchell answered, “but Vala seems sure. Besides, this is the best lead we’ve got.”

“This is the only lead we’ve got, Colonel,” Landry reminded him. “That’s why I’m giving you the order to follow it up. Get to it, people.”

Mitchell opened his mouth to acknowledge the order only to pause; Teal’c was staring out into the trees, listening closely, his hands tight around his gun.

No sooner had Mitchell indicated for the Daniel and Vala to cover their flanks, they were surrounded. Immediately Mitchell dropped down to one knee, training his P90 towards the heavily-armoured mercenaries emerging from the tree line. He assessed their chances: they didn’t look good.

Then a woman wearing the grey uniform of the Lucian Alliance stepped out onto the path, and his fears were confirmed.

“Colonel?” Landry prompted through the radio.

Weakly, Vala answered for him. “Found ’em,” she said.

 

**End of Part 2.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> O'Neill's plan continues to unfold - but not quite as well as he had hoped.

O’Neill crouched low in the undergrowth, allowing his body to rest for a moment as he considered his surroundings. He reminded himself of the importance of this mission, and forced himself to suppress the pain in his protesting joints. He wasn’t as fit as he used to be, despite his efforts; the older he became, the more difficult it was to keep in shape. He regretted that fact, now – bitterly.

He glanced down at his watch. SG-1 would be out looking for him by now, provided they had returned from their last mission on schedule. The co-ordinates he had left them had been an obvious clue, and it wouldn’t be long until they ran into the Alliance. Hopefully he would be able to save Sam without them; but he hadn’t been dumb enough to set off without a contingency plan.

His gaze travelled from his watch to the sky, and his muscles began to thrum with impatience. He felt coiled, ready to spring; every part of him wanted to rush into battle and fight, yet to do so would only put Sam in further jeopardy. He would have to wait for the cover of darkness; only then could he hope to ascend the hill to the east and infiltrate the pyramid that dominated the skyline.

The light was beginning to fade around him, but the haze of dusk wouldn’t be enough; he needed the full cover of night. But he was anxious to put some distance between him and the cloaked cargo ship he had used to get here, and he knew he wasn’t good at waiting – not for something like this. Not when one of his own needed him.

It didn’t take him long to convince himself he should start identifying access points to the pyramid and mapping out patrol routes of the guards. Silently urging Sam to hold on, he hoisted himself up and began to run.

*

Teal’c was sitting with his back against the wall of the cell, keeping a watchful eye on the two figures slumped in the middle of the floor. The three members of SG-1 were surrounded by the fake gold interior of a Goa’uld mothership, though they were missing their leader: Mitchell had been taken by the guards as soon as he had woken.

Across the cell, Vala began to stir. Teal’c watched her dispassionately as she groaned and sat up, blinking open her eyes and rubbing her forehead. Then she noticed Daniel lying on the floor beside her, and gave him a shove. He didn’t move.

“Lightweight,” she muttered, and ran a hand through her thick, dark hair. She turned her attention towards Teal’c. “What happened?”

Succinctly, Teal’c answered: “An ambush. Lucian Alliance.”

Vala nodded and glanced around the cell. She paused a moment, looking confused; she pointed at Daniel, Teal’c and herself as though counting. Then she looked questioningly at Teal’c, who explained: “Colonel Mitchell awoke several moments ago. The guards came to take him away.”

“Oh.” Vala frowned, before choosing to channel her anxiety by giving Daniel another shove. This time he woke with a start.

“Wha–?” he asked, scrambling to sit up. His glasses were skewed on his face; Vala sighed loudly and reached to straighten them. Daniel scowled and batted her hand away.

Teal’c silenced them with a raised hand. They listened: footsteps sounded outside. Getting to their feet, Daniel and Vala stood against the far wall as Teal’c took up position next to the door.

The door opened. Mitchell was pushed inside, and the door slid shut before Teal’c could make his move.

“Thanks, guys!” Mitchell called over his shoulder at the closed door. “Always a pleasure.” He clapped Teal’c on the shoulder as he passed him, and asked the team at large:

“Everyone alright?”

“Oh, just terrific,” Daniel replied dryly. “You?”

“No lasting damage,” Mitchell answered dismissively.

“So?” Vala prompted. “What does she want?”

Mitchell looked around the group, frowning as though he couldn’t quite make sense of it himself. Finally, he replied: “She wants us to help her... find O’Neill.”

There was a stunned pause. Daniel was the one to break it.

“I’m sorry – what?”

Mitchell shrugged. “That’s what she said.”

Unconvinced, Teal’c raised an eyebrow and remarked, “That seems most unlikely.”

“Why would she want our help?” Vala asked. “And just who _is_ she?”

“Her name is Lenai,” Mitchell answered. “From what I can gather, she’s the newest kid on the block in Alliance-town. She’s obviously powerful enough to have a mothership and her own gang of henchmen, but I think she’s on a mission to prove herself to the big boys. That means four members of SG-1 are not enough. O’Neill stole one of her cargo ships and now she wants him as well. She thinks we’re the key.”

“But you told her to go to hell,” Daniel predicted.

“Obviously,” Mitchell agreed. “Trouble is, the way she plans it, we might not have much choice.”

“How’s that?” Vala asked.

Mitchell explained: “We’re not going to set the trap; we’re the bait.”

*

It wasn’t long before the whole team was summoned to the bridge. They were dragged in by a sizeable escort of burly guards, all of whom seemed incapable of intelligible speech. Mitchell found himself jabbering away at them just to fill the silence between grunts.

He was rudely interrupted by one of the guards, who landed a heavy blow across his jaw.

Thrown back by the force of the bigger man’s fist, Mitchell hit the floor and skidded several feet further into the room. Pain blossomed in his jaw and spread rapidly upwards into his skull, causing his eyes to blur and the floor to spin beneath him. He heard a scuffle somewhere in the distance and vaguely wondered who had tried to come to his rescue.

Something moved in front of his eyes. He blinked hard, and eventually the blurry something divided itself in two: boots. Mitchell slowly raised his head. Someone was staring down at him; a woman who reminded him of a girl he had once dated in college. She had the same, angry look on her face. What was her name? Cindy? Mindy? He wondered whether he always had such trouble remembering her name. He thought: _maybe that’s why she was so mad all the time._

Then she spoke. “Get up, Cameron Mitchell.”

Mitchell frowned at her as, finally, an iota of reality sank in.

“Hey, you’re not Wendy,” he said accusingly, and pointed a belated finger at her.

“Mitchell!” Daniel hissed from across the room. The urgency in his voice was enough to bring Mitchell to his senses; painfully, he picked himself up, and found himself face-to-face with Lenai.

“Nope,” he murmured, “not Wendy at all.”

Lenai glared at him. “You talk too much, Colonel. Now get back over with your friends before I find another reason to do you harm.”

It seemed he didn’t have much choice: two of her henchmen immediately moved forward, grasped him under the arms and all but carried him back to where the rest of SG-1 was standing. Lenai turned back to the navigation controls.

“We’re in hyperspace,” Mitchell suddenly said, unable to stop himself. His brain was still catching up with current events, and he had only just noticed the familiar blue of subspace streaming past the external window at the very front of the bridge. In an effort to turn his rather unnecessary comment into something vaguely intelligent, he added: “Where are we going?”

Lenai glanced over her shoulder at him. “Are you _sure_ you’re the leader of SG-1?” she said. “Or is it common strategy among your people to act dense?”

“Take it from me, it’s a common strategy,” Vala piped up at once. “Unfortunately, more often than not they’re not actually _acting_...” She threw Mitchell and Daniel a disparaging look.

Lenai gave a smirk before turning back to her controls. “O’Neill played that game too – exceedingly well, in fact. I had been warned about your team, Colonel Mitchell, but not about your General. He will not get away with it.”

There was a jolt, and they dropped out of hyperspace.

“Engage the cloak,” Lenai ordered. Her lieutenant at the auxiliary controls (the only other woman they had seen on the ship) obeyed.

“Cloak engaged.”

“Returning to our original question,” interrupted Daniel, “where are we?”

They looked. Stars glinted distantly in a vast blackness of limitless space.

“See for yourself.” Slowly, Lenai turned the ship about, and the small, golden-brown orb of a planet came into view. It hung small and innocuous in the distance, orbited by a single moon. Asteroids floated haphazardly in wide orbit.

“Nope,” said Daniel cheerfully. “Still got no idea.”

Lenai glanced towards her deputy. “Imelda! Is the cargo ship’s locator beacon still transmitting?”

Imelda gave a sharp nod. “We have its location – it’s on the planet’s surface. Internal sensors report no life-signs.”

“He got to his destination quickly,” Lenai noted with a faint note of approval in her voice. “Let’s see if he’s still there. If not...” She glanced over her shoulder at SG-1. “You’re going to pay the penalty.”

“Lenai.” Imelda’s voice sounded urgent. “Sensors detect another ship, approaching fast.”

“What? Raise shields!” Lenai demanded, and span around. “Mitchell! How did they know we were here?”

Mitchell gave her an innocent smile. “So much for cloaking, huh?”

“A trap!” Lenai thundered. “Your O’Neill did this!”

Teal’c gave a smug incline of the head. “That is indeed most likely.”

*

In fact, O’Neill’s carefully laid out plans were not going nearly as well as he had intended.

Even as his consciousness drifted in the security of his dreams, something felt wrong to him. He felt his lips twitching into a frown. Beside him, in the haze of the dream, Sam mirrored his expression.

“What is it?”

He stared at her and tried to remember. She was lying next to him, her fathomless blue eyes gazing into his. He glanced briefly upwards and realised they were lying in the warmth of their bed, at home in Washington. He looked again at Sam. She must be on leave, he thought, except he knew she was supposed to be somewhere else – he couldn’t quite put his finger on where.

“Aren’t you supposed to be...?” Jack waved a hand towards the ceiling. “Out there, somewhere?”

Sam’s frown turned quizzical. “No,” she replied, and touched his chest. “I’m supposed to be _here_.”

He nodded, sensing that she was right. “Yes,” he agreed. “But you’re not, are you? Here?”

She sighed, and moved forward to kiss him softly. He savoured the moment, touching the bare flesh of her shoulder. Her skin was warm beneath his fingertips. He thought: I remember this.

Then he thought: No, I really _remember_ this. This moment. These feelings.

Except the first time it happened, she had answered his original question with a grin and told him that SG-1 would be carrying out their mission without her. He had scolded her for keeping the secret, perplexed by the sacrifice she had made for him; she had sighed, leaned forward, and kissed him softly on the mouth. He had touched her shoulder, enjoying the warmth of her skin.

“Happy birthday,” she’d said.

Jack tried to locate the occasion in the slightly jumbled timeline of his memory. It had been a couple of weeks before she had been formally offered the position of commander aboard the _Hammond_. They had only been married a month or so. Why was he thinking of that now? And if this was a memory, what was actually happening, in the present?

He felt a twinge of pain behind his eyes and realised that, whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

He opened his mouth to speak, only to find himself voiceless; he began to panic, reaching for the safety of his wife’s arms but catching her comfort only briefly, dragged upwards through layers of darkness until his closed eyelids were aflame with light.

All of a sudden he knew he was awake. Everything was much clearer, much more solid and a great deal more painful. He let out an agonised groan as every joint and muscle in his body seemed to flare up in some kind of torturous, internal rebellion. He gasped for breath but couldn’t quite breathe deeply enough; his heart was beating far too fast and his skin was covered in a cold sweat.

And then he made the mistake of opening his eyes.

Arrows of bright light bombarded his vision, but that was not the worst thing: no, the worst thing was the face the light revealed.

Ba’al.

“General Jack O’Neill,” he intoned with mock affability. “Welcome back! It is so _good_ to see you again.”

Jack lurched towards him, fuelled by fury; Ba’al pulled back with a callous laugh. “So predictable.” He straightened up and began to stroll back and forth across the torture chamber.

“I’m disappointed that you didn’t take our agreement seriously. Coming here in a cloaked cargo ship?” He made an infuriating tutting sound. “I’m sure Colonel Carter will be sorry to hear how you failed to follow my instructions.”

A surge of rage suppressed the pain long enough for Jack to force himself up off the floor. He stood despite the screaming of his muscles, and staggered forward as he almost lost his balance.

“If you so much as lay a finger on her...” he seethed. Ba’al stepped closer, grabbed O’Neill’s shoulder and whispered:

“Too late.”

The words struck him harder than any physical blow. The pain reasserted itself, along with a sense of horror and hopelessness; when Ba’al released him, O’Neill’s legs buckled beneath him and he sagged back down to the floor.

“Let me see her,” he begged.

Ba’al ignored the request. “It’s not too late to buy back her freedom,” he announced, his eyes full of sadistic amusement. He produced a small needle from his pocket and began inspecting the sharpness of the point. “All I want is a little... co-operation.”

O’Neill glared at him, filled with pitch black guilt and white hot rage. His anguish was all but indistinguishable from the physical pain overwhelming his body; he had a vague recollection of his capture, and the beating he had already endured. He longed to return to the peace and comfort of his dreams, where he knew Sam would be waiting.

“Neither of you needs to suffer anymore – all you need to do is agree to help me.” Ba’al leaned closer, his hand outstretched. He positioned the needle against the fragile skin of O’Neill’s temple. “Last chance.”

**End of Part 3.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The SGC finally receives some good news, but SG-1 is still in danger.

Sam woke abruptly to the sound of her name. She lay there a moment, trying to identify the owner of the voice. She frowned; there was a dull but persistent ache at the back of her skull making it difficult to concentrate. She opened her eyes, blinking against the artificial light surrounding her, and croaked,

“Marks?”

“Colonel Carter!” He sounded relieved. Sam forced her eyes to focus and felt Marks’s hand on her shoulder as he helped her to sit up.

The room swayed around her before settling back into place, complete with the familiar sights and sounds of the bridge. She realised, with an overwhelming sense of relief, that she was aboard the _Hammond_: whatever had happened, whatever the situation, she was with her crew.

Marks still looked concerned. “I’m alright,” Sam assured him, and got to her feet. She glanced around the bridge; other people were picking themselves up off the floor, while a few had already moved over to their consoles and computer screens to find out what had happened.

“What’s our situation?” Carter asked.

“We’re not sure, Colonel,” Marks replied. “Looks like something knocked out the whole ship.”

“Casualties?”

“None reported as yet, but internal communications are still down.”

Sam cast another glance around the bridge. No-one here seemed to have been injured by whatever had knocked them all out; she hoped the rest of the crew had been so fortunate.

“Send someone over to the infirmary to find out,” she told Marks at last, and took her seat. Dutifully, Marks passed on the order to a security sergeant before following his superior’s example and settling back behind his control console. Carter asked: “Damage report?”

The female captain on her right answered, “Pretty much everything is down – shields, communications, navigation, hyperdrive. We were on emergency life-support for a while there, but we were able to switch over as soon as we realised.”

Surprised, Carter asked, “You mean no repairs were necessary?”

“No, ma’am. It was like someone just hit the off-switch.”

Sam considered this a moment. “Try rebooting the other systems and see what else comes online,” she said at last. The captain nodded and got to work.

“Colonel – there’s one more thing,” said Marks, hesitantly. “According to the log, we’ve been out for over... twenty-two hours.”

“What?” asked Carter, startled. Marks nodded solemnly.

“That’s what it says, ma’am.”

Sam sighed. “Alright. Never mind that for now. Order your team to concentrate on getting our systems back online. I want shields, hyperdrive and communications as soon as humanly possible.”

Marks gave a word of acknowledgement and set about executing her orders. Sam sat back in her chair, giving herself a moment to think. Her headache was mercifully subsiding, but her sense of confusion and disorientation persisted. She tried to piece together what had happened before she had been plunged into the familiar oblivion of unconsciousness; her mind was racing with possible explanations and probable causes.

“Internal communications online and fully operational,” the captain on Sam’s left reported.

“What about long-range?” Sam enquired. The officer shook her head.

“Not yet, ma’am. There seems to have been damage to the primary transmitters on the outside of the hull. I’ll try the auxiliaries.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Carter reached for the button on the arm of her chair and activated the intercom. “All hands, this is Colonel Carter. We’re obviously in the middle of a situation right now, but the first thing I want everyone to do is report to their supervising officer. Any medical concerns should be addressed to infirmary staff immediately and all departments are to keep regular contact with the bridge.”

“Shields fifty percent operational,” a voice reported from behind.

“Navigational computer online,” somebody else added.

Sam felt the weight of anxiety begin to lift. It looked as though they had come away lightly from this one – nevertheless, she wouldn’t be satisfied until she knew exactly what had happened.

She reached to activate the intercom a second time, meaning to contact the engine room. She was interrupted by Major Marks.

“Colonel,” he said, glancing up from his console, “I’ve finished accessing the data log. You’re going to want to see this.”

*

Hank Landry did not consider himself to be a cynical man, or a man that naturally assumed the worst. After all, how many times had he given his people the benefit of the doubt, even when the odds were stacked against them? As leader of the SGC, he always had to believe the impossible could be made possible, because every time they activated the Stargate the impossible actually happened.

But even he had to admit that when the Gate technician on duty reported an unscheduled activation that afternoon he only expected more bad news.

“What is it, Sergeant?” he demanded, striding into the Control Room at a startling pace.

“I-I’m not sure, sir,” the young sergeant stammered, taken aback by his superior’s ferocity. “Hold on – we’re receiving a transmission...”

An image appeared on the monitors above them, and to his amazement Landry found himself gazing at the fair but serious face of Samantha Carter.

“Colonel Carter?” He couldn’t help the incredulity in his voice. A smile touched her lips.

“General. It’s good to see you.”

“Colonel!” he barked. “You’ve been out of contact for almost twenty-four hours!”

“Yes, sir – it wasn’t intentional, believe me.” She gave an apologetic smile, but seemed not to be fazed by his hard tone. He listened as she explained what had happened. She concluded:

“Most of the crew came round a little under an hour ago. Since then we’ve been working on restoring primary systems. Long-range communications are still inoperative, which is why we’re sending a signal through the Stargate.”

Landry glanced at the mighty grey ring he so often took for granted these days. The dull silver of the iris hid the active wormhole from view, but a faint blue glow still danced against the wall behind.

“Do you have any idea what happened?” he asked Sam. He looked back at her in time to see her adopt the slightly doubtful expression that meant she was about to offer an educated guess.

“We’re still piecing it together, sir, but the data log seems to suggest the ship was damaged by a massive burst of electromagnetic energy from some kind of electrical storm. Looks like everyone on board received a mild electric shock and that’s what knocked us all out. At the same time life-support stopped functioning properly which led to increased carbon dioxide in the air, meaning we were unable to regain consciousness until about an hour ago, when the system failed completely and emergency life-support took over.” With a valiant attempt to lighten the mood, she added: “I can tell you, General, it was a shock to discover how long we’d been out.”

Inwardly, Landry sighed. She was about to receive another shock, and once again he blamed Jack for embarking on a futile mission.

Carefully, he said, “Colonel, I’m afraid there have been some... developments since we lost contact.”

The smile on Sam’s face vanished. Tentatively, she asked: “Developments, sir?”

“I’m sorry to have to tell you, Sam, but Jack went AWOL the morning after the _Hammond_ was declared missing in action. We believe he had some kind of plan to rescue you. SG-1 went after him, but they’ve since been captured by the Lucian Alliance. I’m sorry, Sam. As of this moment, we have to presume that both Jack and SG-1 are in enemy hands.”

*

Jack O’Neill shivered in the cold and the dark, trying to suppress the memories that were bubbling up through his consciousness. But his memories were mingling with his fears and it was becoming harder and harder to distinguish the two; yet still he knew that he mustn’t remember. He mustn’t sleep, because he mustn’t dream. He mustn’t remember.

*

Teal’c watched as the approaching Goa’uld mothership rapidly grew closer, and decided the time for talking was over.

Lenai had turned her attention back to flying the ship, shouting instructions to her lieutenant.

“Launch the gliders!” she added to the guards holding SG-1. One of the men restraining Teal’c released him from his grip so that he could follow the order; immediately Teal’c broke free of his restraints, turning on the two men that were trying to hold him. In the next moment Mitchell, Daniel and Vala were following suit, throwing off their captors and quickly knocking them to the ground.

More guards were coming. Teal’c yelled a warning and Mitchell grabbed the weapon of one of the guards that lay unconscious on the floor. Vala was already engaging two of the closest men in hand-to-hand combat as Teal’c and Daniel followed Mitchell’s example and armed themselves.

“This would be a lot easier with our own weapons!” Vala exclaimed breathlessly, ducking as one of her adversaries tried to land a heavy punch. Bright flashes of weapons fire rushed past her on either side.

“Vala!” Daniel called, and tossed her an energy weapon. She caught it, struck one guard in the stomach with the butt end, then fended off the other with a blast that lit up the corridor with a violent flash of blue.

Teal’c, for his part, had not forgotten the mothership that was approaching from the planet. He paused a moment to glance at the large screen on the other side of the bridge. The image was flashing with a warning in Goa’uld.

“Colonel Mitchell!” Teal’c called. “We must leave immediately!”

As though to confirm his words, the entire ship shook with a sudden impact; Daniel, Mitchell and Vala careered into the wall.

“They’ve opened fire!” Imelda told Lenai. “Their weapons are penetrating our shields!”

“Get us back into hyperspace!” Lenai growled.

Mitchell signalled the others, and they hurried wordlessly down the corridor, weaving their way between Lenai’s men, who now lay sprawled and motionless on the floor. Another impact rocked the ship, and then another; in sheer frustration, Mitchell exclaimed:

“This was a bad plan!”

“I’ll be sure to tell Jack that when we actually find him,” Daniel replied, his tone indicating that he was in total agreement.

“We need to get to the glider bay,” Vala interrupted, sounding uncharacteristically pragmatic. Ahead of them, the hallway veered off in two different directions. “Which way, Muscles?”

Without hesitation, Teal’c replied, “This way,” and veered down the left corridor. The rest of the team followed at a run. Then they turned a corner, and saw that Lenai was waiting.

She was surrounded by armed soldiers. As his team drew to a reluctant halt, Mitchell threw up his hands and said, “That’s just cheating!”

Lenai gave him a crooked smile. They felt the ship give another agonised shudder as more enemy missiles impacted the hull.

“The Goa’uld who owned this ship before me thought it of the utmost importance to have his own secret escape passages.” She took a step forward. “You didn’t think I was going to let you go so easily, did you, Mitchell? I’ll admit I was careless with O’Neill, but I’ve learnt my lesson. Guards!”

They heard the unsettling sound of weapons being made ready to fire.

“Hey, no, wait,” Daniel spluttered. “I mean, surely we’re more valuable to you alive...?”

“Disappointingly for you, no,” Lenai answered darkly. “Handing you over to my superiors alive might have gained me a little more money, yes, but you’ve already proven yourselves far too much trouble. I’ll get just as much prestige and _almost_ as much money if I hand you over dead.”

Vala gave a sarcastic smile. “In case you haven’t noticed, darling, your ship is under attack. How do you expect to take us anywhere?”

Lenai returned her mocking expression. “Don’t you worry about that, honey. The point is this: either I kill you and take you to my superiors, or you die with me on this ship. Either way...” She shrugged. “You die.”

“You know,” said Mitchell, “dying doesn’t work for us today.” He glanced over her shoulder, and almost laughed. “I don’t think it works for your guys, either.”

He nodded towards the soldiers that had been standing ready to execute her orders. A large group of them were hurrying into the glider bay, hoping to escape the ship before it was destroyed; those who remained were giving one another uncertain looks. Teal’c gave a grim smile.

“It appears that your men are cowards, Lenai.”

“_Smart_ cowards,” Vala interjected, and gave a little shooing gesture to the remaining soldiers at Lenai’s side. They exchanged glances and, evidently deciding their job was not worth dying for, hurried after their comrades. Scowling with rage, Lenai turned back to face SG-1.

Before they could react, she drew her weapon and fired four times.

At exactly the same moment, the corridor was bathed in a dazzling flash of white light.

Then, barely a minute later, Lenai’s ship exploded.

**End of Part 4.**


End file.
